


Miss You

by xaihime



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Ruby & Sapphire & Emerald | Pokemon Ruby Sapphire Emerald Versions
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xaihime/pseuds/xaihime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Precious words unspoken in aching hearts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Miss You

Steven Stone had never been good with people. As a child, he’d much preferred the company of rocks and Pokémon to any human interaction. All through his academic career at the Rustboro Trainer’s School, he’d sat alone, lunched alone, and studied alone. Not that the others had been keen on accompanying him, anyway—the rich son of the Devon president had been the outcast among children whose fathers all worked for his. It was also for that reason, however, that Steven had never been picked on. In fact, he’d been very much ignored; as an adult he would remember clearly the day in class when he’d tripped on his untied shoelaces and fallen onto the floor—there was not so much as a glance in his direction from anyone but the teacher, who had hurried to his aid.

But as it was Steven had much liked things that way. Aron and Beldum had been more than enough as far as friends went, and his small but growing collection of rocks and gems gave him something to look forward coming home to. Looking back on it now, Steven thought that yes, he’d been a content enough child. His mother and father thought so too. He’d been a good, smart boy. Obedient, quiet, calm.

~*~

“Well, it certainly is quaint,” Joseph Stone said. He removed one hand from where he had it shoved deep into his pants pocket and shaded his eyes from the sun, peering up at the structure.

“It’s all I need,” Steven replied.

The Mossdeep cottage was square, squat, with one bedroom, one bathroom, and a kitchen and living room combined into one. When the realtor had shown him inside he’d immediately been able to picture all of his display cases lined against the wall, the crammed shelves towering over a modest office area, the small chests slid beneath his bed. It was a humble home, sure enough, and rather boxy, but it was a pleasant change from the mansion in Rustboro and he rather liked it, developed an instantaneous fondness for it.

“If it’s what you want, I guess I can’t say no,” Mr. Stone was saying. “You’re the one who’ll be living here, after all, not your mother and I.” He chuckled, taking his PokéNav out of his coat pocket and glancing down at the time. “Consider it paid for. I’ll have the movers get started with your things.”

With that, Mr. Stone began heading back to the Mossdeep Pokémon Center, on the roof of which his private helicopter was waiting to take him back to Rustboro.

“Oh, Dad—” Steven called.

“I know, I know,” his father answered. “I’ll be sure to tell them to be careful with your rocks.”

~*~

Life in Mossdeep was about what Steven had expected—quiet and peaceful with a lovely ocean breeze. The Space Center and Pokémon Gym brought in a steady stream of tourists and Trainers, but the streets were never congested as they were in Rustboro, the air never as stifling. He went about his days as before but with a brilliant, newfound sense of independence. Living on his own—though still tied to Devon, as he was occasionally called in by his father to help with paperwork or research—was a breath of fresh air.

~*~

Isolation was something he thought he enjoyed. Through his time working under his father at the Devon corporation, however, Steven had become quite accustomed to the toils of human interaction. A habit of cool, distant politeness in place of genuine affection and friendliness was something that came to be known about him throughout Hoenn. It seemed the only subjects that could peak his passion were geology—and once started on this he could ramble heatedly for hours—and Pokémon.

After leaving his full-time position at the Devon Corporation, Steven had thought himself finished with a life of not-so-pleasant pleasantries and forced smiles, but the title of Elite Four Champion brought with it its own set of irksome duties—the orientation of new League members and Gym Leaders, for example.

Dull, tiring work, it was. All of these faces with their expectant smiles, their searching eyes, and intrusive voices. Such dull, tiring work.

~*~

A Heaviness would settle over Steven at times—walking along the streets of Rustboro at night, sitting at his desk at home with a new rock specimen before him, even while simply standing in the Champion’s Room of the Elite Four. There would first come the tightness in his chest, like a small hand gently squeezing his heart; then the pressure on his shoulders, as though a physical weight were pushing him down. It was startling, terrifying, but he grew used to it. At first the Heaviness was worrisome—it was danger, dread. It made his stomach drop. But as the years bore on the Heaviness became something else, something he couldn’t quite describe. Looking out over the sea at Ever Grande, however, he felt it more profoundly than ever. It was painful, almost. A dull ache in his breastbone.

~*~

Lying down in his bed at night, the stirrings would begin. He’d ignore it, usually—the sudden flushing of his skin; the suctioning, sinking feeling in his loins. It was an oddity that occurred only when Steven would recall such things as the bare skin of a young man’s abdomen peeking out from under his T-shirt as he yawned and stretched in the PokéMart; or the muscular flex of a delivery person’s arms as he unloaded a package for Steven; or the fleeting scent of a passing stranger’s cologne.

Whenever possible, Steven would simply turn over onto his side and clutch a pillow to his chest. He’d try and smother the surreptitious thoughts, occupying his fervent mind instead with stones and gems and the processes that went into their creation. He’d remember the errands he’d have to run the next morning, would recall his father’s voice saying, “I’m proud of you, son, you know that,” and gradually the sensation would die away, lifting up and off him—leaving him cold and hollow.

Sometimes, however, the sensation was overwhelming, and then he’d be forced into action. His hands, trembling, would venture up under his shirt or down beneath the waistband of his underwear.

Always, afterward, there was a gnawing emptiness, a terrible feeling of shame. He’d press his face into his sheets and screw his eyes shut until all his world was dark and silent.

~*~

“Nice to meet you,” Wallace said, offering his hand out to Steven.

“Nice to meet you, too,” Steven replied, and as the two shook hands Steven felt a strange prickling along his spine. He rubbed the back of his neck.

With names and formalities having been exchanged, Steven and Wallace stood together for a moment in silence, looking out over the Sootopolis Gym.

“This is wonderful,” Wallace said. His grin was broad, charming. “I have no words to express my elation. I must only say that I am so very, very honored. Master Juan left great expectations upon me, and I plan to exceed them.”

“Yes, it’s very good to have you,” Steven said—rehearsed lines, spoken with great care and a pleasant business smile. “You’ll be a fantastic Gym Leader, I’m sure of it.”

“Thank you, Steven. Truly.”

Steven stole a glance over at the man. Wallace was tall, athletic; his dazzling teal eyes gleamed with excitement at the sight of the Leader’s platform rising before tumbling, cerulean waterfalls.

Something deep inside of Steven shifted. Tearing his gaze away from Wallace, he felt somehow different, changed, though he couldn’t place his finger on exactly what was new. He slid his hands into the pockets of his slacks, turning around to start back towards the Gym entrance.

“Please don’t hesitate to contact me or any of the other Leaders if you need anything,” Steven said over his shoulder. “You’ve got my number.”

“Oh, you’re leaving so soon?” Wallace called after him.

“I’m afraid I’ve got some other business to attend to,” Steven answered, pausing to turn around and face Wallace once more. “But I’d be happy to come back some other time, if you’d like.”

The last sentence had fallen unexpectedly from his mouth, strange and foreign; he felt as though he’d just spoken another language. Those words were not part of his thoroughly practiced welcome speech. But something about Wallace’s eyes—kind, inviting—had pushed those odd syllables from his throat. Unsettled, Steven lifted a hand to rake through his hair.

“Yes, of course,” Wallace was saying. “I’d love that.”

“Ah, yes. Well then, in that case, I’ll be keeping in touch with you.” Steven turned and headed for the door once more, his pace a bit quicker now.

“Wonderful. Goodbye, Steven.”

As Steven passed through the sliding doors of the Sootopolis Gym, the Heaviness settled upon him once more at the sound of those parting words.

~*~

“Wonderful” was a word Steven would come to be quite familiar with. Everything was wonderful to Wallace, if not fantastic. The sea, the sky, Pokémon: all were wonderful and beautiful. Steven grew to enjoy the sound of those words as they left Wallace’s lips; he liked the inflection in Wallace’s voice as the man said them—“ _won_ derful,” “fan _tas_ tic,”—and he especially liked the glimmer in Wallace’s eyes when he spotted something that fit the category.

~*~

The more time they spent together, the more Steven saw that Wallace was a person of endless grace, generosity, and caring. The Water-type Gym Leader was filled with an insatiable curiosity, a passion for the world and its workings. He loved his city and its people and displayed this boundlessly.

He was always interested in Steven’s lengthy speeches on gems and minerals or the formation of various layers of sediment, and in fact he encouraged the other man to delve into even further detail (“Won’t you please tell me more, Steven?”). They found that they shared a keen interest in Hoenn mythology, and—especially with Wallace as the Guardian of the Cave of Origin and a descendent of the ancient Sootopolitans—the two were never short on topics to discuss, on questions and postulations to offer one another.

Throughout their conversations, Wallace’s bright green gaze would be settled intently on a positively invigorated Steven, and oftentimes, especially as their weeks together drew on, their talks would be prolonged into the earliest hours of morning.

At night, Steven would find himself sitting at his desk, fiddling absently with a fragment of stone and contemplating his time spent with Wallace. It was strange, so strange—Steven could never stand being alone with anyone for too long, but with Wallace he felt as though entire evenings weren’t enough. He craved more of that laughter, more of that smile, more of that voice exclaiming, “Fascinating, Steven!” or “How about that, my friend?”

It churned him up inside—these unfamiliar sensations, this feeling of need. But hunching over his desk with this incessant fluttering in his stomach was immensely better, somehow, than the Heaviness, which hadn’t returned in a long while.

~*~

The sea breeze in early winter was incredibly refreshing. Walking along the shores of Sootopolis with Wallace, Steven sucked in a big gulp of crisp air and felt himself revitalized, his insides cleaned.

Prancing ahead of the two men was Wallace’s four-year-old niece, Lisia, her small legs working furiously against the cushiony sand as she raced along the shoreline. Her tinkling laughter lilted on the breeze.

“Sweetheart,” Wallace called after the girl. “Stay close, please.”

Pausing to gaze out over the water, Steven murmured, “It’s beautiful.” And it was—the gentle waves lapping against the shore, sparkling and reflecting the orange-purple of the sky; the flocks of Wingull floating lazily on the updraft; the fiery ball of the sun melting into the watery horizon.

“I’m glad you think so,” Wallace said, and Steven’s stomach flipped at the soothing gentleness of the man’s voice. “I grew up here. This is my home. This—” and he stretched his arm out to sweep over the vast expanse of sea, “—this is where my heart rests.”

Steven turned to Wallace, his grayish eyes raking over the other man’s profile and taking in every feature—he lingered on the soft lips turned up slightly in a wistful smile, on the blue-green locks of hair flitting against the smooth cheek—all silhouetted in the golden glow of the setting sun. He was overcome, suddenly, with the desire to reach up and caress Wallace’s face, to press his lips against that cheek, to take those locks of hair and twist them slowly, lovingly in his fingers. His legs and mouth twitched with longing, the likes of which he’d never before experienced. He fought to keep himself rooted to his spot, to keep his trembling hands at his sides. 

Wallace turned to him and was startled to see such an expression—brows furrowed slightly, mouth set in a strange, lopsided line—on his companion’s face. He leaned down a bit to look searchingly into Steven’s eyes. 

“Steven?”

The Champion faltered, turning away, a deep rosiness blossoming over his face.

“S-sorry,” he sputtered. “I’m alright.”

Wallace’s kind smile returned. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, of course. I was simply, ah. Pondering something. I’m sorry if I worried you.”

Wallace straightened himself, running a hand through his hair (and Steven watched each silky strand gather in the man’s fingers and then fall back against his cheeks and neck). “If you say so. What were you pondering, my friend? If I may ask?”

Steven’s heart leapt; he opened his mouth to speak, but from behind them came the piercing sound of a high, girlish shriek.

“Oh, Lisia!” Wallace exclaimed, rushing past Steven, who turned dazedly around to watch Wallace pluck a squealing Lisia up from where she’d fallen into the sand.

“Sweet girl,” Wallace cooed. “You’ve got to be more careful.”

Lisia sniveled into her uncle’s shoulder. She seemed completely absorbed in her crying and in Wallace’s comforting words, but as Steven came up beside them she suddenly screamed, kicking her legs out wildly.

“My shells!” she cried. “My shells!”

Steven jumped back as though he’d been smacked, his eyes flying down to his feet where, sure enough, a handful of seashells and pebbles were sprinkled across the sand. He bent down immediately to collect them.

“Oh, Lisia, come now,” Wallace said. “You must be more civil.”

The small girl pouted sullenly as Steven, looking absolutely flustered, straightened himself up and offered the tiny collection to her.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know your shells were there. Will you forgive me?”

Lisia continued to pout. She brought her small, chubby hand to her mouth as she considered. She stared up at Steven from under her greenish bangs.

“Well, Lisia?” Wallace prompted, giving the girl a light jostle in his arms. “Are you going to accept Mr. Stone’s apology?”

When Lisia appeared still unsure, Steven took a moment to examine the objects in his palm and pick out one of the pebbles.

“Look,” Steven said, raising the pebble directly in front of Lisia’s eyes. “This is called quartz. Beach sand is made almost entirely of quartz fragments, but this—” he twisted the specimen around in his fingers, letting his audience have a full view of it, “—Well, a fragment of this size and sheen is rather rare. Special. You found this, didn’t you, Lisia? That makes you a geologist of sorts. You can add this to your collection as your very first gem.”

Lisia’s eyes were large, gleaming. She reached out for her quartz, and Steven placed it in her palm. Her small fingers closed around it with conviction. She hadn’t the faintest clue as to what “sheen” or “geologist” meant, but the word “special” echoed within her.

“So then, Lisia?” Wallace inquired, chuckling.

“Pretty,” she answered. “My pebble is pretty.”

“Quartz,” Steven corrected. “Yes, your quartz is very, ah. Very pretty.”

“Quartz,” the girl repeated, awestruck.

Wallace bent his head to whisper into his niece’s ear. “Mr. Stone helped you, sweetheart. What do we say?”

“Thank you, Mr. Stone!” Lisia piped cheerfully.

Steven smiled, a glowing warmth settling in his chest. The girl’s joy was contagious.

“You’re welcome,” he answered. He offered the rest of the pebbles and shells to Lisia, who took them gratefully and clutched them to her chest, nestling deeper into Wallace’s arms.

“It’s been a long evening,” Wallace said. “Why don’t we head home?”

“Mm,” Lisia agreed.

The Gym Leader began walking back the way they’d come, Lisia’s chin resting on his shoulder. “Steven? Would you care to join me for some tea?” 

Steven’s heart skipped a beat at the mere utterance of those words.

“Yes. Yes, I’d love to.”

~*~

His nights were different now, certainly. The yearning, the desire returned frequently, but rather than the random flash of a stranger’s skin it was Wallace’s broad smile that came to mind, the scent of Wallace’s hair as he leaned over a seated Steven’s shoulder to examine a gem.

Glorious, lovely—the touch of Steven’s hand travelling down his own torso. In his feverish state of mind he imagined the hand was Wallace’s; with his eyes shut so tight against the pitch darkness of his bedroom he pictured the Sootopolis Gym Leader hovering above him. He could see that smile—kind, always so kind and gentle—on the backs of his eyelids, oh Arceus, he could see it in his sleep. Fingers cupped around his livening member, smooth, deliberate fingers—his mouth opened in the blackness, a shuddering _“Oh,”_ wrenching itself from his throat, and in his mind he heard the lovely voice, quiet and smooth and shooting shivers down his body.

_“Steven.”_

“Wallace,” he uttered in answer, as his hand working itself into a quick rhythm. “Wallace,” his husky, pleading voice piercing the lonely silence of his bedroom.

When he finished, the shame settled over him, sure and just.

~*~

“This one here is very nice,” Steven said, holding the stone up to the yellow lamplight. “Limestone. You found it by the ocean?”

Lisia nodded, reaching her wriggling fingers out to ask for the fragment back. Steven handed it to her obligingly. They sat together on the floor of Wallace’s living room, six-year-old Lisia with her knees folded gracefully under her, Steven in an awkward and uncomfortable cross-legged position. A small collection of rock and mineral fragments was piled between them.

“Yes, limestone is common around bodies of water,” he continued. “It forms organically through the gradual collection of shell, coral and other types of debris. Although, it may just as well be that…” His words trailed away into silence as he noticed that his lesson was falling upon deaf ears; Lisia, her head bent over the pile of rocks she’d found that day, showed absolutely no interest in learning any more than names.

Wallace laughed, leaning forward in the armchair he was lounging in. “It’s alright, Steven,” he said. “You can tell me about the formation of limestone.”

Steven chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. “It’d be a pretty repetitive lecture for you.” He watched Lisia pick a small stone from her pile—nothing more than a common pebble, Steven knew—and hold it up to the light as if it were a diamond.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Wallace mused, his elbows resting on his knees and his chin in his palm. His eyes danced—playful, beautiful.

Steven swallowed, offering a small, sheepish smile. He felt Wallace’s stare lingering on him and he glanced up to meet the man’s gaze. A slow but sure heat began to creep up Steven’s neck.

“Lisia,” Wallace said, never tearing his eyes away from Steven. “I do believe it’s time for bed.”

“No way!” the girl retorted.

“Come now, sweet girl. Early to bed, early rise?”

“Makes a princess pretty, healthy, and wise,” Lisia finished, but she took some time to herself for some fine demonstrational pouting before rising from the floor, gathering her rocks in the skirt of her sun dress.

“You’ll come tuck me in, won’t you?” she asked.

“Of course, my dear.”

The girl lingered for a moment, squinting first at the befuddled expression of her friend Mr. Stone, then at the calm smile of her uncle. Eventually, she began to saunter toward her bedroom, passing directly in between the two men as she did so.

Lisia’s flouncy pleated skirt brushing against his face snapped Steven promptly back to attention. He scrambled to his feet.

“I’d better be going, then,” he said hurriedly. “You’ve got Lissi to attend to.”

“It’ll only take a moment to tuck her in,” Wallace replied, standing as well. “Wouldn’t you like to stay a bit longer?”

He hovered closely over Steven—close, too close. Steven wanted to step back, but somehow he couldn’t will his body to move.

“I shouldn’t. My, ah. My father asked me to see him tomorrow. Early tomorrow. He, ah, needs my help, you see. A project they’re working on. I’d better get to bed myself, really.”

The excuse was lame, phony; Steven could hear this even as the words left his mouth.

“I suppose you ought to be going then, my friend,” Wallace said after a pause, though he made no move away from Steven.

“Yes, I really must.”

But there they both remained, standing closely together in the dimness of Wallace’s living room with an electrified silence cloaking them. The ticking of the clock on the wall seemed enormous, resonating. Steven felt the tips of his ears burning  
.  
They were separated, at last, by Lisia’s voice calling for Wallace from her bedroom. The spell broken, the two stepped away from each other and coughed quietly, inhaled, ran hands over faces and arms. Wallace saw Steven to the door.

“I’ll see you soon, I hope,” Wallace said.

“Yes,” Steven replied. “Very soon.”

He rode Skarmory home beneath a blanket of clouds and stars, the cool summer night wind against his cheeks a welcome gift.

~*~

Sweeping the area around his desk one afternoon (a task rarely performed), Steven strained his memory to recall the day he’d moved into this home. Had three years truly passed already?

Three years. Steven leaned against the broomstick in contemplation. How quickly they’d gone by at Wallace’s side. It was almost startling.

~*~

After having finished coffee and dessert in Steven’s cottage one evening, Wallace began to peer into the long glass display case which housed pieces of Steven’s collection. His attention settled, finally, on a well-polished, glittering blue gem.

“How wonderful,” Wallace breathed. “Truly breathtaking.”

Steven looked up from the essay on riverbed sediments he was skimming. “Which one?” he asked. It always pleased him to no end when Wallace took an interest in his collection.

“This one here,” Wallace said. “This deep blue one.”

“Ah, that one,” Steven replied, rising from his seat to meander over. “A fine piece of sapphire. One of my favorites, as well.”

“You collected it yourself, of course.”

“Oh, yes. I mined it on Mt. Chimney just last year.”

As Steven continued to expand on the tribulations of extracting the raw sapphire from a bed of igneous rock, Wallace steadily sidled closer to him. Steven, lost in his recollection, a finger to his chin, didn’t notice their closeness until Wallace’s arm had snaked gingerly about his waist.

“The process itself took about—ah,” Steven gasped lightly as he was pulled into an embrace, his face pressed into Wallace’s neck. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a small, “oh,” escaped him.

“Steven?” Wallace said, and Steven could feel the hum of the man’s voice vibrating against his cheek.

“Y-yes?”

“Is this alright?”

He felt that it wasn’t. His cheeks were burning suddenly, and he thought he might be feverish. The scent of Wallace—his hair, his cologne, his natural scent—was filling Steven, making his head spin.

“Yes.”

Wallace’s arms wrapped tighter about Steven’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and Steven raised his arms shakily to reciprocate the embrace.

Strange, strange, so incredibly _strange_ —this contact, this closeness, how terribly wonderful it was. Steven felt breathless, felt his heart thudding viciously against his ribs. It was enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He nestled his face into Wallace’s neck, and Wallace laid his cheek against Steven’s hair. The two men stood like this for what seemed like an eternity. Wallace began to sprinkle gentle kisses along Steven’s head down to his temple. All Steven could do was cling tighter to Wallace, pressing his lips to Wallace’s neck and bunching the back of the man’s shirt in his fists as their bodies began to sway together, slowly, to a silent tune, as the light from the moon and the spindly shadows of the trees began to spill in through the windows.

~*~

“I’d been married for nearly seven years by the time I was your age, Steven,” Joseph Stone was saying. His tone was musing, casual, and he was carefully inspecting a small specimen of emerald as he spoke, but still the words pierced Steven, made his face burn.

 

“Yes,” Steven replied. “I know.”  
“When do you plan on marrying, son?”

The room grew heavy with silence. The photos behind Mr. Stone’s desk offered a strange, familiar comfort to Steven, who trained his gaze on the spirals of the Omanyte’s shell.

“Steven?”

“I don’t know, Dad.” A deadpan, obligatory response.

Mr. Stone laid the emerald down gingerly against a scrap of cloth. He adjusted the lapels of his coat, folded his hands together, sat up in his chair. He was tall, square, intimidating this way—it was the posture he took when he bartered with the presidents of other businesses.

“When I die,” Joseph Stone began, “you’ll be the one in charge of this company. You know that.”

“Yes.”

“And when, Arceus willing, your time comes, who will be your heir?”

Silence. Mr. Stone sighed deeply, and the sound made Steven’s heart sink. His eyes flickered quickly from the paintings to his father’s face and then back again.

“This company has had a Stone at its head for decades.”

“I know.”

“Well?” Mr. Stone leaned forward, spreading his hands palm up on the desk before him. “You do plan on marrying, don’t you? On having children?”

Steven chewed at his bottom lip. It was a question his father had asked of him countless times before over the past few years, but never like this, never with Steven perched on the other side of the desk like a weaker company head. His throat was tight, suddenly—unbearably so. The very air in the room was stifling, smothering.

“Steven.”

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Look at me.”

Steven obeyed, but as soon as the two pairs of gray-blue eyes met, Steven had to bow his head. It was too much—his father’s knowing stare was unbearable.

~*~

He found himself at the doors of the Sootopolis Gym. Stepping over the threshold, Steven was met with a silence disturbed only by the roaring of the waterfalls. He lingered for a moment at the entrance—hesitating—but then his legs carried him briskly down the stairs to the Gym’s basement.

Wallace was there, scribbling on a notepad as he stood before a stack of boxes. He didn’t notice Steven’s arrival at the base of the stairs, and for a few minutes Steven was able to watch the man deep in thought, mumbling softly to himself. When at last Wallace turned around, he jumped back slightly in surprise at the sight of his companion.

“Steven,” he said, a hand to his heart. “You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.”

Steven was quiet, his eyes fixed on the movement of Wallace’s lips.

“A new shipment of badges came in today and I was just taking stock,” the Gym Leader continued. “Can I help you with something?”

He took a step closer to Steven, and looking over the man his smile dropped away, his brows furrowed.

“Steven. You’re shaking.”

He reached a hand out to Steven, who flinched unwittingly at the gesture. Wallace withdrew but leaned forward a bit to peer questioningly at Steven.

“My friend,” he said, concern heavy in his voice. “What’s happened?”

Steven blinked, shaking his head. His heartbeat roared in his ears like a booming drum; hot tears blurred his vision. He was only vaguely aware of his body lurching forward, of his hands grasping out at Wallace’s shirtfront; in the next moment he was pulling the other man down to press their mouths roughly together. A flurry of movement, a frantic tussling as Steven guided Wallace to a nearby wall without breaking their kiss. He clutched Wallace’s shirt in his fists until his knuckles turned white and pulled, pulled—he needed Wallace closer, wanted to be enveloped completely.

His insides churned.

“Steven,” Wallace gasped breathlessly once they parted at last for air. His arms circled around Steven’s waist.

“Please,” Steven begged. The word was small, pathetic, full of need. He wrapped one of his legs as best as he could around Wallace, catching the man’s lips in his once more, and the frenzied, sloppy kiss was all desperation, all teeth.

~*~

There was the rush of breath against his neck, the feeling of cold fingertips trailing along his navel. An unbearable, perfectly _won_ derful friction was working against his cock, setting his thoughts blank. His hips bucked further up into Wallace’s fist on their own accord, and he panicked at this, his mind whirled; this body was no longer his.

“Steven,” came the breathy voice on his ear. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” he wanted to say, but instead a small exhale escaped him. He nodded frantically, closing his arms tighter around Wallace’s neck. Wallace chuckled softly, hoisting Steven up higher against the wall. Their pants pooled in a heap on the floor beside them.

“I must say, I imagined this moment a bit different,” the Gym Leader began to say, but he was hushed by Steven’s mouth crashing against his own.

~*~

They began to stay together in the evenings after their talks, curling side-by-side, wrapped up in each other. Steven slept, his head on Wallace’s chest, his fingers laced with Wallace’s, in a cloud of warmth and peacefulness that he hadn’t experienced since childhood.

~*~

Lisia was growing quickly, much too quickly, Steven thought to himself as he placed seven candles gingerly into the girl’s birthday cake.

“Steven?” Wallace called from the kitchen. “How are things looking?”

“Your decorations look wonderful,” Steven answered. The table had been draped with a lovely sky-blue cloth, and carefully folded napkins patterned with small, lively Swablu in flight had been set beside each of the four plates. A bouquet of colorful spring flowers made up the centerpiece.

"And the cake?” Wallace questioned.

“I did my best.”

Swooping in from the kitchen, his arms laden with silverware, Wallace peered over Steven’s shoulder to find the candles in a slightly lopsided circle around the center of the chocolate cake, which had, written in blue frosting in Wallace’s sweeping handwriting, “Happy Birthday, Lisia!”

“It’s nice,” Wallace mused, placing the silverware on the table. “You did a good job, my dear.”

“You don’t have to lie, I know they’re crooked.”

“I’m not lying!” Wallace replied in mock indignity, and both men laughed.

“Well, everything except for the candles looks good,” Steven said, looking over the room—the table, the streamers hung along the walls, the cake that Wallace had prepared himself, all matching a pleasant light blue theme.

“The candles are perfectly fine,” Wallace said, pecking Steven’s cheek. “Come on, now. Master Juan will be here with Lisia any minute now.”

With that, Wallace switched off the lights, and he and Steven hid together in the kitchen to wait for their birthday girl.

~*~

Life was a beautiful thing, Steven realized. The world was an incredibly big place, so full of wonders and fascinating phenomena, so full of people who had such amazing and inspiring stories to tell if only stopped and asked.  
Wallace had taught Steven so many things in their time together, and Steven knew that he would only ever continue to learn so long as he was at this man’s side.

~*~

“Can’t I go with you?” Steven asked. Perched on the edge of Wallace’s bed, he pulled his second sock on and began scanning the floor for his shoes.

“It’s awfully routine work,” Wallace answered. “You’d be rather bored.” Standing in front of the dresser mirror, Wallace ran a comb through his forelock and examined himself thoroughly, turning his face this way and that.

“I’m never bored when I’m with you,” Steven said, and he smiled at Wallace’s floating laughter.

“If that’s true then I’m flattered.” Wallace moved to Steven’s side and began running his fingers through Steven’s tussled bedhead. “Patrolling the perimeter of the Sky Pillar is tiresome, and some company would be nice.”

“Then let me go with you,” Steven pleaded.

“Unfortunately, my dear, it’s a task that I must undertake alone.”

Steven shook himself free from beneath Wallace’s combing fingers and rose from the bed. “When will you be back?”

“In a day or two, at most,” Wallace said. “I’ve just got to check up on the state of things.”

“What could possibly be wrong?” Steven gathered his shoes up from where they’d been carelessly discarded the night before. “Maybe you don’t even have to go.”

“It’s an old structure, you know that. Crumbling walls, disentigrating floors. It’s my duty to make note of it all.”

As he stood facing the door, Steven felt Wallace’s hands wriggle under his armpits, pulling him into a tight hug. Wallace’s heart beat steadily against his back.

“I’ll miss you,” Steven said softly, and Wallace kissed his neck.

“I’ll be home before you know it.”

~*~

On the second day, the loneliness was unbearable. Wallace’s scent was everywhere in Steven’s home—on his bed, on his armchair, in the folds of his clothes. After only the first night of burying his nose into his pillow, Steven grew desperate. He took his PokéNav from his pocket and called the man, risking reprimand for interrupting a holy duty.

The first try was futile, and Steven had expected this. Wallace had surely turned his PokéNav off for the trip. Still, Steven waited until morning to try again and, predictably, received no response. He decided he’d have to tough it out, though the thought of Wallace’s smile, of the man’s gentle touch, made his chest feel tight.

~*~

On the morning of the third day, Steven’s phone calls were incessant. He dialed again and again, fingers mashing at the screen of the device, though each time he tried there was not even so much as ring on the other end. Wallace’s PokéNav was off, or perhaps broken somehow. Steven paced his home endlessly.

He was overthinking, he knew. The delay was surely due to some disturbance at the Sky Pillar. Perhaps some pesky Zubat or Wingull had made their nests in the ceilings and had to be chased away. Wild Pokémon could be stubborn, Steven knew. They guarded their territories fiercely.

He waited, his feet carrying him back and forth across his dusty floors.

~*~

When, on the fourth morning after a sleepless night of continuous dialing, Steven still received no answer, he input instead the number of Wallace’s old mentor, Juan. As he was about to press the dial button, however, he began to receive a call himself.

“Juan? Yes, I was just about to call you.”

The old man’s voice on the other end was quiet, trembling. Steven strained his ears to hear it.

Aron, curled on a Pokémon bed beside the couch, was startled awake suddenly by the sound of Steven’s PokéNav clattering to the floor beside it, the front door crashing open, and its Trainer dashing outside.

~*~

The hallway was startlingly white. The sterile scent hit Steven in a nauseous wave when he passed through the automatic doors. He felt woozy; he reached out to support himself against a wall but still he collapsed, his knees hitting the tiled floors with a dull thud. Bitter bile rose in his throat; he pushed a hand against his stomach.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard footsteps rushing towards him, saw through eyes blurred with tears the familiar white shoes dashing towards him.

“Wallace,” he uttered.

But it was Juan who knelt beside him, gathering him into his arms.

“Wallace,” Steven said again. Juan pressed the young man’s head tight to his chest, rocking him slowly back and forth. Steven could feel Juan shaking, trembling against him. A shuddering sob reached his ears.

“Wallace?”

“No, Steven,” Juan sobbed brokenly. “No, son. No, no, please don’t.”

But the name kept pouring from his lips, over and over like a chant, like a prayer.

_Wallace._

~*~

_“I love you,” Wallace says, his hand rubbing up and down Steven’s arm as they curl together on the bed, Wallace’s chest pressed to Steven’s back. The opened window lets in a square of warm summer sunlight and a salty ocean breeze._

_Steven opens his mouth to speak but somehow no words come. He can only take Wallace’s hand and kiss it, kiss each knuckle with care and listen, with so many emotions surging in his chest, to the soft sound of Wallace’s laughter in his ear._

~*~

Some rubble, she said, had fallen from the Pillar. The structure was shaky, crumbling, and large pieces were always falling into the sea or onto the surrounding sliver of beach. More than likely, Wallace had been knocked unconscious. As he lay trapped beneath the weight of the rubble, the breath had slowly left his body.

Steven had roused from an exhausted yet restless sleep to listen distantly to the doctor’s report. Curled on the floor, his head resting on Juan’s legs, he blinked at the wall on the far side of the hospital waiting room. There was an uncomfortable dampness beneath his cheek, and he lifted his head slightly to see that there was a large wet spot on Juan’s pant leg left from his tears.

“How long?”

Steven heard Juan’s low voice above him—it sounded muffled, far away.

“How long what, sir?” Came the doctor’s response even farther off.

“How long was he alive while he was still trapped?”

The doctor gave the answer, but Steven had shut his eyes, had brought his knees up tighter against his chest, and he didn’t hear it over his own despaired groaning.

“That’s enough, enough,” Juan said. “Thank you. Please, let us be.”

The clicking of the doctor’s heels resonated down the hallway. Juan placed his hand over the young man’s ear.

A Heaviness, big and wrathful, pressed itself down onto Steven.

~*~

The sky was such a brilliant blue. Steven tilted his head up to look at it—wispy clouds rushed along on the chilly winter wind, passing over the pale, watery sun. He adjusted the lapels of his black suit.

Beside him, Lisia was kneeling to place a small bouquet of flowers before an ornate headstone. She’d picked the lilies out herself at the flower shop.

After setting down her gift, Lisia took a moment to bow her head, shut her eyes, and send a message to her Uncle Wallace, like Master Juan had told her to do. When she was finished, she stepped back to watch Steven expectantly.

Steven swallowed. He went shakily to his knees, bringing forth from his coat pocket a small satin box. He opened it briefly to glance at its contents—a golden ring encrusted with a large sapphire—before snapping it shut and placing it beside Lisia’s bouquet.

“Uncle Steven?” Lisia asked as Steven rose. She slipped her hand into his.

“Yes?”

“Is it true what Master Juan said?”

“What’s that, sweet girl?” Steven’s voice was beginning to tremble, his throat to tighten. He coughed quietly.

“That Uncle Wallace will always hear us when we talk to him? No matter what?”

A hot tear rolled down Steven’s cheek; he quickly raised a hand to wipe it. “That’s right. He’ll always be listening, Lisia.”

The girl nodded solemnly. The two stood together for a few minutes longer, gazing down at the grave, the wind tossing back Lisia’s light hair and dark dress.

At last, Lisia said, “Uncle Steven?” Her small, clammy hand tightened around his large one.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go home?”

“Yes,” he wanted to say, but the word caught in his throat. Nodding, he wiped his eyes once more. Together he and the young girl turned and went back the way they came, leaving the ancient Sootopolitan cemetery behind. As they went, Steven sent his parting message to the man he loved—words that he hadn’t been able to say before, that he would keep hidden in his heart for the rest of his life.

~*~


End file.
